


Macchiato and A Latte

by PattonSherlo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Dean is a mechanic, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Gabriel is a Janitor, I haven't read one yet and it needs done so here I am, Janitor Gabriel (Supernatural), Librarian Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, My First Gabriel/Sam Winchester Fanfic, New York City, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paralegal Sam Winchester, Rating May Change, Sam Winchester is a Lovestruck Boi and it Shows, Sam Winchester is a Paralegal, Tags May Change, That's right, There will be angst and sadness but also fluff and adorableness, castiel is a librarian, just wait
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-28 01:26:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18201620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PattonSherlo/pseuds/PattonSherlo
Summary: If there was one thing that kept Sam Winchester going, it was coffee.His taste buds preferred it; his energy levels required it. Long hours on the job from a young age had deemed it a necessity, and college deadlines and exams had made it routine. Wake up, get dressed, get ready, drink coffee, and go. Eat, if he had the time.That much he had known, stepping into that small Manhattan coffee shop on 7th Avenue one morning before work. He'd not thought much of it at the time -- he would never be there again, right?Wrong.Months later, stepping in, he did the usual. Greeted the barista, took his drink, and moved to sit in his regular seat. Only one problem: there was already someone there. 'Gabriel', the side of the man's cup read. His name.What Sam didn't know was that the man in that booth would change him forever.





	Macchiato and A Latte

**COFFEE (SHOP)**

 

        If there was one thing that kept Sam Winchester going, it was coffee.  
        His taste buds preferred it; his energy levels required it. Long hours on the job from a young age had deemed it a necessity, and college deadlines and exams had made it routine. Wake up, get dressed, get ready, drink coffee, and go. Eat, if he had the time.  
        Everything was different once he’d moved to New York. A kid fresh out of college, unused to the large crowds and noise (so, _so_ much noise), hadn’t stood a chance. Not half-asleep, anyhow.  
        And so, coffee.  
        The little shop on 7th Avenue had been perfect. He had never understood why it didn’t get more attention, given the location, but he knew food was everywhere when it came to New York City. He hadn’t had the time to care back then.  
        Sam could remember everything about walking in that day. He’d dropped by one morning, desperate for his morning fix, taking only one glance at the sign ( _Coffee Table_ , he recalled, _Green for the Environment, Coffee for You_ ) before dragging himself inside. The barista had been nice, if looking a bit tired from the morning rush, smiling but saying nothing except for a “Have a good day, and let me know if I can get anything else for you!” as he took his drink and sat down at a table. He had at least a few minutes before work, and it wasn’t like he was gonna be in here ever again anyways, right? Might as well enjoy the view before he had to jump back in the fray.  
        Oh, what a lie that had been.  
        Because Sam _was_ back, the next day and the day after that, every weekday he worked and sometimes, if he was up for it, on the weekends too. That table, tucked into the corner and nestled neatly against the window, became Sam’s table. Sam’s little place of solitude –- a place he frequented enough that nowadays the baristas merely handed him his drink before he had even opened his mouth. As far as he could tell, he was one of the only regulars, but he didn’t particularly mind. He just stared out the window, watching the sun climb the sky so it could slide back down the other side as he walked back. It was peaceful.  
        Until it wasn’t.  
        Upon later recollection, Sam realized he had never marked the date. Walking in that morning he could sense the familiar rush of crisp morning air flow around him. 7.40 am, on time and as informally expected. Benny, the barista usually on around that hour, gave him a laidback grin and went for Sam’s drink.  
        “Hey, Sam,” he greeted, looking over his shoulder as he worked.  
        “Morning, Benny,” Sam returned. “How are you doing?”  
        The barista smiled coolly before passing over the beverage as he watched Sam pull out his wallet. “Thanks, brother.” He smiled again, eyes crinkling along the edges as he tapped his hat slightly downwards in appreciation. Sam turned around with a light sigh, testing his coffee.  
        And froze.  
        His gaze immediately fell on the small table nearest the window. _His_ table. Yes, it was Sam’s table, but sitting there silently watching his own mug was… someone else. Sam looked back at Benny for answers, taken aback. It’s not like he was all that upset – logically, he knew, it wasn’t really his table, just the one he always sat at. He was just surprised.  
        Benny merely shrugged before turning to the next customer.  
        Instead of his usual seat Sam opted for a booth on the opposite wall of the shop, trying to focus getting his drink finished. But he found himself turning his gaze back to the man in ‘his’ seat every few seconds. To be fair, the Winchester couldn’t really blame himself. The man was breathtaking -- the sort that made Sam want to keep watching him as though if he blinked the man would be gone. His hair was almost as long as Sam’s, caramel, parted and brushed back neatly behind his ears. A small chain around the man’s neck, silver, contrasted his green jacket and brown button-up. Sam looked away once more as he chastised his mind for not leaving the matter alone before glancing back one last time. The man’s cup had turned slightly while in his grip, and his observer caught a bit of Sharpie on the edge.  
        His name was Gabriel.  
        He turned back to his watch, trying not to think. _Gabriel – the archangel Gabriel? A pretty uncommon name, I wonder_ –- 7.51. His watch read 7.51. Standing, he dumped his only 3/4ths-drunk coffee in the trash. Work started at 8, and it was a ten-minute walk from the shop –- he’d gone the route enough times to know, and if he hurried he might still get there on time.  
        “See ya later, Benny,” he called over to the barista as he hurried to the door, flashing a quick smile.  
        He tried not to look back.


End file.
